SUMMIT

BY CARTER BRADY, 11

The bright morning sun shone on the smooth granite of the mountain, piercing through the trees along the sloping path and illuminating the barren peak with a radiant glow. The fresh smell of trees and a faint aroma of open water, coming from the lake not a half a mile away, washed the area in comforting scents. In the breaks between quick trills of intermittent birdsong and recurring jokes and laughter from the hiking group, an almost holy silence surrounded the trail, focusing one’s attention towards the pristine off-white stone of the enormous chunk of granite erupting out of the Yosemite soil with majesty and grandeur.

The whole scene before me had almost a heavenly aura about it, one that could not more strongly contrast with the sheer dread that was running up and down my body. I was standing at the base of Half Dome, the next item on a weeklong to-do list that had spanned an entire week’s backpacking trip through Yosemite National Park. Over the last three days, I had woken up at sunrise, hiked eight to ten miles per day, and eaten light, portable meals designed to maximize calories and minimize bulkiness. Along with my father, three uncles, and a cousin, the last three days of trail hiking and camping had been spent in preparation for the upcoming climb, one I was terrified to make. The steep granite slope seemed to me an impassable wall, rising straight up into the clouds and presenting an impossible challenge; the support cables, visible even from the base, outlined a seemingly vertical trail cutting directly up the famous dome to the top of the mountain. My legs, already worn out from the rigorous activities of the last 72 hours, began shaking at the mere thought of ascending such a difficult peak, and all at once I felt all-too-familiar voices of doubt sneak through my mind, speaking in voices alternating between worry and cynicism.

This looks impossible, the worrywart whispered. Are you sure you can do this? The cynic took its turn too. Of course you can’t. You’re no Schwarzenegger to begin with, and seventy-two hours of hiking is wearing you down. I wouldn’t be surprised if you slipped on those cables and cracked your skull open up there.

“Shut up,” I mouthed inaudibly, mentally attempting to force the negative thoughts to the back of my consciousness, with little suc-

OVERGROWTH

BY ELIZABETH PETERS, 12

cess. Even the friendly, excited chatter and jokes of our six-man hiking party barely managed to put off my concern as we began our trek up the sub-dome with a long series of switchbacks, each consisting of huge flights of stairs cut straight out of the mountain. The stairs alone proved a demanding enough task, and once the near-9,000-feet altitude and my personal fatigue were factored in, I was both disheartened and exhausted.

About halfway up the switchbacks, we stopped our climbing and sat down on some rocks for a brief rest and snack opportunity. Reaching into my day-pack, I found the two food items I had packed in anticipation of the morning’s climb: a pouch of applesauce and a Snickers candy bar. I briefly considered my options before grabbing the applesauce. I promised myself I would eat the Snickers if I managed to reach the summit. A celebratory award for an accomplishment I wasn’t even sure if I could do yet.

The rest of the switchbacks passed by rather quickly in my mind, stair after stair fusing itself together in my memory so that, looking back, the rest of the hike, while substantial and time-con- suming, seems to slip through my memory like water from a sieve. However fast or slow the next walk passed, my perception of time snapped back to normal speed as I conquered the last stair and found myself on a wide plain of granite rock. It gently sloped in a small dome-like shape itself, gradually curving down to all sides and breaking off into a sudden drop to the left and right, plummeting several hundred feet to the forest below. I felt a jolt in my stomach as I registered this fact, and I readjusted my stance with a sense of nervous caution.

It was still early in the day, but it appeared a few hiking groups had beaten us to the summit, as I could spy a few small figures in the distance. And behind them–a shiver crept down my spine as I watched the slope come into view, looming over my surroundings and seeming at this angle to ascend vertically as guide cables fed hikers into a straight path right up the side of the mountain. I was taken aback by the sheer intimidation I felt at this granite monster, and in my moment of fear the worrywart and the cynic once again crept into my consciousness.

You see that, don’t you? interjected the representation of my fear. If you take a wrong step you’ll go sliding back down that slope, and if you can’t catch yourself in time you could even find yourself falling ten stories off the side of a cliff!

Face it, you don’t have the guts to make that climb, echoed my inner skeptic. Even if you could do it physically, you’ll make it maybe fifty yards and then what? You’ll get too scared to continue, too scared to climb down, and you’ll make a complete fool of yourself. If you’re stupid enough to think you’ve got the muscle for this, then at least consider that.

I found myself unconsciously heading for the cables, searching in my pack for the rubber work gloves I’d packed for this very moment. I slowly tilted my head back, ignoring the accompanying dizziness to take a moment and gaze at the huge outcropping before me. In that moment I made a choice. I wasn’t going to let fear, doubt, self-criticism, or any other emotion I might feel before, during, or after my climb stop me from achieving the goal I had been working so hard to reach for the past three days. I put on my gloves, slowly walked towards the metal cables, and put my hiking boot on the first step.

The first fifty yards were challenging, but I tackled them with relative ease. I could actively feel my doubts fading, and a sense of relief washed over me. This wasn’t so bad after all. The cables had a sort of thin four-inch platform at every pole they ran through, so I pulled myself up the slope with my arms until I could maneuver my feet into a relatively flat space created with the intersection of the platform and the rock. The path was slippery, but I made quick progress.

The second fifty yards got more intense; gaps widened between platforms, and one even appeared entirely gone. Each step took more and more amounts of strength until every step was an agonizing effort. Each movement propelled me a mere three, maybe four feet closer to the top, but the sheer physical effort of pulling myself forward with my arms and scrambling my feet up, desperately hoping to gain momentum, made each step feel as though it were several miles long, chaining together and together in a seemingly unending cycle as I scaled the impossibly steep slope and felt my energy slowly begin to drain.

I was about halfway up the cable line when I first felt a real sense of foreboding. I gripped the cables tighter and tighter, feeling the friction between my hands, the gloves, and the metal burn calluses into my palm with stinging heat. I could feel the ancient, well-trodden rock beneath my feet get slipperier as I desperately navigated from platform to platform. Suddenly, I realized with a jolt of fear that the next stretch I was about to climb did not have a platform at the standard interval. A significant lip in the rock would force me to navigate over a nearly foot-tall obstacle while both maintaining a strong grip on the cables and preventing myself from falling headfirst down the several hundred yards of granite below. With great effort, I pushed back the creeping tide of doubt I could feel rising inside of me, forcing myself to focus on the obstacle ahead.

I lunged forward in an attempt to use my momentum to propel myself over the lip, taking one–two quick steps with my boots and lifting a third to approach the space just before the ledge. Before I could set that foot down firmly, my planted boot lost footing with the slick granite, and I slid backwards, desperately grabbing at the cables to slow my movement. I felt the palms of my hands screaming in effort and pain as the cables cut through the gloves, burning into the skin and rubbing it raw as I slid backwards, my feet dangling behind me. The pure, unrestrained fear I had been repressing over the last few minutes all came flooding back in, and I was unable to suppress the rolling waves of panic that crashed against my system, undoing my mental stability and physically shaking my frame as I braced myself against the rock, somehow finding enough footing to reach a crouched position.

While my white-knuckle grip held fast to the two cables on either side of me, my body began uncontrollably quaking, waves of sheer terror wracking me as I tried and failed to find motivation to keep moving. That had been a close brush with disaster, and I could even feel the muscle memory of my near-fall lingering in my leg and arms. Why should I continue to climb, and risk another disaster? I hadn’t even made it over the lip of rock yet, and to turn back now would not be easy, but it definitely wouldn’t be more difficult than a continued ascent. I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth, straining my arms from the effort and attempting to calm my shaking with little success.

As I crouched on that mountain, 8,800 feet above sea level and several hundred feet over the surrounding area, paralyzed with fear, doubt, and hesitation, I felt something deeper come up from within me. It was like my earlier sense of determination, but it felt more...profound. I somehow knew that I was physically and mentally capable of overcoming this challenge and summiting my first mountain, despite the physical effort and mental intensity of the task ahead of me. Maybe I didn’t have the energy or strength to confidently pull myself up the cables with ease and calmly approach the summit, but there was no way I was turning back before I was done.

The gray-white stone seemed to gleam again as, with intense effort, I forced my locked muscles to pull me up and over the lip, practically crawling to the next platform. The hot morning sun beat down on me as I continued my efforts upward, but I felt a sense of satisfaction at the uncomfortable heat it brought and the ache of my arms and legs. I knew I could make it. Outside discomforts were nothing. In that moment, it seemed inevitable to me that I would summit, and I knew what I had to do to make that happen. I continued to climb.

After what seemed like hours, maybe days, I felt the slope start to even off. My calves felt like liquid, my arms locked as stiffly as the rock I was climbing, and the newly forming callouses on my hands stung with a sharp pain, but I forced myself up and over the last set of platforms and staggered onto the summit. I had done it. I immediately reached into my bag and pulled out the Snickers bar I had promised myself, fumbling with stiff fingers to undo the plastic wrap and taking a huge bite. The sweet taste of chocolate, caramel, and peanuts mingled in my mouth, but it wasn’t as satisfying as the feeling of victory gloriously washing over me, carrying away the rough sea of doubt and replacing it with gentle waves of confidence and joy.

My ascent of Half Dome only lasted around four hours. During that short time period, a stubbornness and determination with which I set my mind to things made itself evident, breaking through my mellow and easygoing exterior to reflect inner toughness. I conquered the physical challenge and the mental one, overcoming fear and doubt to achieve my long-term goal. I was imbued with a new sense of confidence, and I knew that, despite the physical pain rippling dully through my exhausted body, I would safely make it down and continue on my way hiking back out of the backwoods for three more days.

After spending some time resting my legs, then walking around the rounded peak to take in the full, incredible view the mountain offered of Yosemite Valley, I walked back to the cables, preparing myself to make the journey down. This time, it appeared as though I would have to make my way down a near-wall, sliding down slippery granite and navigating around swarms of tiny day-hikers gathering below the path like ants. The challenge looked daunting, but somehow I only felt smooth confidence standing atop my achievement. Instead of the worrywart and the cynic, I heard a new voice: a voice of confidence.

This might be difficult, the voice murmured, but it won’t be impossible. And as I realized I couldn’t even hear the cynic or the worrywart anymore, I couldn’t help but agree.

I stood atop Half Dome and looked down on my climb. In my mind, the terrifying experience shifted from a source of utter panic to a reassuring reminder: I could do whatever I wanted to, and no challenge was too great for me as long as I learned to overcome my fear.

MIRRORED BY OLIVIA PAGE, 11

MEREDITH AND OLIVIA BY JANET LIU, 9